Showing posts with label museums. Show all posts
Showing posts with label museums. Show all posts

20 June 2011

Quarries and discoveries

Evidence of early (ca. 2010) Viking occupation of  Sundance, WY

Everyone thinks that museum work is refined, quiet, clean....just as everyone without cats seems to think that they are dainty, finicky, and aloof. Wrong on both counts, at least for this museum (and for all the cats I've been saddled with). Between the ongoing move to the new building and our ongoing field program, I've dealt with more heavy equipment than I knew existed. That's not saying much, since I'm no heavy equipment expert, but it does mean that I know exactly what my hair looks like after a day of wearing a hard hat. (Answer: even more like Beethoven than usual.) (And not in a good way.)

Last week we took a day to go up to our quarry in Wyoming to watch the good guys of the Wyoming DOT move some boulders from the site so that it can be opened for the summer field season. I've had major home appliances that were smaller than these blocks. Thanks to heavy equipment, we're ready to roll.


Classic Morrison Formation school colors, sombre greens and purples

The evil boulders in place. The blue tarp is over the fossils, buried for the year for protection. 


A modern dinosaur clears the way for working on the older ones


The quarry is ready to go, as long as the rain holds off


22 May 2011

More catching up



Abandoned church/schoolhouse, South Dakota, at about the level of technology I'd like to have right now.






Have I ever mentioned how much I hate multiple machine failures? I have? Ad nauseam, you say? Well, let me say it again in case the message didn't get through. Threads and Traces is finally back on the air, as it were, after a couple of weeks of transition problems and a computer swooning with the vapors. For a while there it looked as if I needed to fire up the shortwave radio.

I'm assuming that everyone is still here after yesterday's rapture non-event. We are gearing up for an intense couple of weeks, including an overnight-only trip to San Francisco, and ending with the renaming of the new building. Then comes what I hope is the last Summer of Chaos, moving everything into the new building for good, while at the same time installing major storage systems to handle the collections. Then comes the fall semester and teaching the museum exhibits/preparation class. If the world does not end in October, I'll get a breathing space in December.

I can't believe that I moved to the prairies for a slower pace of life. Where did it go?

But I'm proud to say that all that graduate education has paid off. Last Friday I became a legal forklift operator. This was to make OSHA happy about our use of a little electric lift in our field jacket and oversized storage area. I have now taken three driving tests in my life--the original one, the Class B chauffeur's license one so that I could drive a schoolbus for Nature Center outings years ago, and now the forklift one--and the anxiety is just as bad every time. I did, however, pass every time (although I thought they were going to impound the ancient Nature Center bus on the spot as parts kept softly falling to the ground).

As a friend on Facebook pointed out, there are OSHA-approved hard hats in the shape of Stetsons. I think I have to go there.

There are recipes and genealogy tales to catch up on. More soonest. Y'all have a good day, now. Cheers, Sally-Bob.

01 January 2011

Happy 2011


We have made it to the start of a new year, despite a last-minute sucker-punch of a winter storm that dropped temperatures here to -15* F (with the wind chill factored in), blew 6 inches of snow in all directions, closed the interstate and just generally wreaked havoc with a lot of New Year's Eve plans. But we had a lovely evening at a friend's house with good food and good company. Minus, unfortunately, the hosts, who were stranded in Denver overnight. They'll have great leftovers, though.

Today is a lovely day with snowdrifts glittering in the sun. The New Year's Day menu was served as planned and we looked forward to enjoying a slow afternoon. I have a quilt to bind and send off. The teacakes arrived in Afghanistan safely and have been consumed to the last crumb, from the reports, so another batch is on the horizon.

It was going to be the last truly slow day for a few months. My boss has taken a well-deserved retirement, after 31+ years of service as a professor and curator. Effective tomorrow, I will be the acting director of the museum until the position is filled. I did not see this one coming and am looking forward to this with some excitement but much more apprehension. I'll be posting on the perspective from the director's office periodically. We all hope that the search will go smoothly and that we'll get someone with the vision to make our museum a leader in the field.

Instead of resting up, I plunged in headfirst today when I got a call that a malfunctioning sprinkler head had flooded the building. Because we have the best colleagues, faculty, staff and students ever, we had a dozen people there in 20 minutes to move boxes and get archives and publications into dry boxes. It is a bit of a nightmare right now, and there will be a lot of drying and recovery to do, but the problem was caught early enough to be a nuisance rather than a disaster.

We are hoping that this gets our bad luck out of the way for the year. Had our security guy not come by today and noticed the problem, we would have had a massive disaster to deal with on Monday. As it is, we will get everything dried out and back in place over the next week.

I am thankful for the people I work with. Museum work does not make any of us billionaires, but it puts us in touch with the best, brightest, most dedicated people I have ever known in my life, believing so strongly that we are blessed to be able to preserve a vital legacy for the future. It is good to remind myself that that is the point of all of this work. Maybe I can do this.

Happy New Year to all.

02 January 2010

Look both ways before crossing


It's traditional at this time, the start of a new year and (arguably) new decade, to look both to the past for memories and inspiration and the future for hopes and dreams. As I enter the third year of prairie life, I am doing just that.

I have come almost full circle back to the Great Plains, 800+ miles nearly due north of the place I was born. The journey has taken me to both coasts after a sojourn in the Texas Hill Country. Museums and landscapes drew me across the country and refined my understanding and appreciation of places and people.



Why do I keep coming back to the prairie? Morning light. Horizons. Storms. Sandhill cranes. Killdeer. Prairie dogs. Silence. Sunsets. Finding my way back to a place I never really left.

I have worked in museums since the day I learned that it was possible to do so, and I would not change that decision even if I could. Whatever I might have brought to museums has been given back tenfold to me. This is not to say that I knew exactly what I was doing when I went into museum work, only that it turned out to be the best possible choice for me.


Today I am focused on quilting, which has pulled so many disparate parts of my life together for several years now. I'm in the fifth generation of quilters in the matriarchal line of my family. Here's the first part of the story: in 1994, my grandmother Johnson left me a quilt that I had not known existed. This quilt was made by Nancy Ellinor Honnoll Walker (b. 1852, d. 1922) in Mississippi. It was made for and most likely with her second daughter, my great-grandmother, Mary Marcella “Mossie” Walker Brooks (Gran Brooks to us), b. 1874. The name Mossie is embroidered on two central blocks, with the year 1881 on one of those. I suspect that this was Mossie's first real project.


I did not know much about the Honnoll line before I started researching this quilt. Now I know that they were, among other things, beekeepers. Here's an illustration from a patent awarded to Nancy's father Peter on August 31, 1875.


Beekeeping is one talent that did not span the generations to us, I fear. Not even remotely.


Nancy Ellinor Honnoll married John Hinton Walker (b. 1853) in Mississippi in 1871. We know that the Walkers moved from Mississippi to Oklahoma (near Altus) around 1882 in a covered wagon. Grandma Walker would have been 29 when she and her little 7-year-old daughter finished this quilt, with 5 children already born and several more to come. We have nothing else surviving of the Walkers’ records or possessions that I know of.

The quilt is appliqued with large solid-color autumn leaves in orange and brown. The back is a blue print-striped cotton. There appears to be little or no actual filling or batting in it. It is machine-quilted. How did they manage to afford a sewing machine of any kind in that place at that time? Let the purists sneer that it wasn't hand-quilted. I think is is extraordinary that it wasn't.


Gran Brooks kept this quilt with her, put away safely, all her life. She married Joseph Newton Brooks in 1897 at her parents’ home in Oklahoma and had four children, the next to the youngest being my grandmother, Vada Vivian Brooks Johnson (b. 1909 in Oklahoma). Gran Brooks quilted all her life and had quilting frames hung from the ceiling. Among other things, she ran a boarding house during the Depression in Oklahoma; we have a few of her recipes, but mostly things were just not written down. She lived the last several years of her life on a farm outside Littlefield, Texas, near her son and daughter-in-law.


Damage to the edges of the quilt is most likely the result of a devastating tornado that struck the farm in 1957. Gran Brooks died as a result of injuries suffered in this. Much of the family information above was gleaned from individual pages from the family Bible recovered after the tornado. My grandmother took the quilt and put it away, and no one saw it for the next 37 years or even knew about it. My mother did not even know of its existence until my grandmother gave it to her for me, very shortly before my grandmother died.

In 2003, my husband and I were married at the Historic Church of St. Thomas at the Delaware Agricultural Museum in Dover, a tiny gem of a Methodist chapel. The good staff and volunteers there kindly helped me by sewing a sleeve on the back so that it could be hung in the chapel as a backdrop for our wedding. This was its first public display ever, the first time anyone outside my mother’s family had ever seen it. We needed no other decorations.
 
The quilt has been with me ever since and has inspired me to quilt on my own. It will be 129 years old this year. May it see in many more new years on the prairies.


01 January 2010

2010 is now in the building....


It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.


by Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) , from Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, 1917



Actually, it is a grey morning all morning, a week after a blizzard that brought South Dakota to a halt. It's the first day of 2010, and the morning after a full moon. These are observations, not omens. I am looking forward to a ritual Southern New Year's Day dinner with black-eyed peas, cornbread and wine. After that, I will continue quilting and thinking about the year ahead.

2010 promises great joy and will require much work on all fronts. There may be joyous and sorrowful changes. Every day, I hold a bit of the deep past in my hands and of my own past in my memories. It is time to write them down and to map them out.

Everyone who works in a museum and touches the fragments of history knows the melancholy joy of it. I seek it in the tiny buildings dotting the prairie and hills as well as in my daily work, and I sew it into the quilts that are becoming one of my own greatest joys.